


Cuffed

by deltachye



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Explicit Language, F/M, Fluff, Reader-Insert, Romance, Romantic Comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-22
Updated: 2014-06-22
Packaged: 2018-08-16 19:51:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 13,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8115301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deltachye/pseuds/deltachye
Summary: [reader x dean winchester] [cancelled; no further updates]How to get magically bonded by your souls to an insanely attractive, insane man who deals with the creatures that go 'boo' and also has a talent in ticking you off until you want to scream — don't do it. Just don't.





	1. Chapter 1

* * *

 

As you lay in bed tonight, you couldn’t help but think to yourself, _‘How did I get hand cuffed to an incredibly attractive guy for eternity?’_

You pushed a knuckle into your temple as soon as you finished the thought. Even _you_ confused yourself, so you forced yourself to re-enact the day. And, you also forced yourself not to look at the sleeping man’s ass that lay directly beside you.

How did it start…

\---

It was early March.

The sun was shining, the air was crisp but not frigid, and the snow had mostly melted away, leaving slush on the cracked concrete. Hipsters and families roamed the frosty park you sat in, clutching warm drinks and enjoying a break from the constant harshness of winter.

You sat on the mainly dry metal bench inside the bus shelter, preventing the freezing of your ass off with the polka-dotted scarf of your favourite colour laid on the seat. You brought it knowing that you would be waiting for a long time. After all, you dealt in sketchy stuff, and sketchy people were always tardy.

Not drugs, no. _But maybe I_ should _take a liking to them, if it’s easier than this shit,_ you grumbled to yourself sullenly aloud, attracting looks from others. You supplied hunters with everything supernatural — large quantities of salt, rifles, iron shackles, silver throwing knives, umbrellas that shoot holy water, and all the other things that fit into your closet. You could only imagine how strange your suppliers could think of a young woman standing in his shop, smiling with a request of 72 chainsaws and a (preferably) bloodied machete.

Finally, a car pulled up into the spot where you’d specified your customers to park in. It was about time! You stood, pulling the heavy suitcase containing things you’d rather not even think about, and tucked your scarf back into your purse. Two men left the black car; a tall one and a really tall one, and they spotted you immediately. It was a short walk across the road to them, and you greeted them with a scowl.

“What type of douchebag leaves a girl out here in the cold for three hours?” you demanded of them, slamming the handle of the cheap purple carry-on down. The taller one flinched; the tall one merely scowled back as if it was a competition of who could be bitchier.

“Well, I’m so sorry for the vampire that suddenly decided to eat me,” tall guy said in a very sarcastic tone. His smile was wide and faker than a Barbie doll as he took the handle of the bag from you before you could blink. “Now if you’ll excuse me. Sam?”

“Uh,” Sam stuttered before remembering what he was supposed to do. He searched his right pant pocket and found his wallet, drawing out a wad of bills. “Is this good?”

You snatched it from them. “I’d ask for more, _Sam_ , but lucky for you, I’m a very nice woman.”

The-guy-who-wasn’t-Sam snorted, having returning from throwing your precious time and effort into the backseat. “Right. Thanks for your help, we’ll be going now.”

“Dean, we can’t even take a break?” Sam complained, raising his hands with exasperation after stuffing the now thin wallet back into his jeans. “We kind of need to do something humans do, like _eat_.”

“Suck it up, Sammy, this thing is killing people right now!”

“Whoa, break up the romance boys,” you intervened quickly, although you weren’t sure why. You were usually all in favour of a good brawl. Maybe it was the weather.

Both men glared at you, as if to say ‘get out of our bitchy-witchy fight’, but you continued. “I don’t know what you’re hunting, but a hunter needs to be able to hunt.” You glared at Dean pointedly. “Eat, sleep, and screw a lady. If you even can. Then go and do… whatever you guys do.”

“ _Thank_ you,” Sam sighed appreciatively, giving Dean a look while raising his eyebrows. “She’s right.”

“ _She_ has no business with _us_ ,” Dean retorted bitterly, giving you an angry elevator look. Those little eyes obviously lingered on your boobs, but you gave it no notice. You hated dicks like him, so there was no way his dick would get in you.

“Thanks for the love,” you called over your shoulder, already starting off. You had two more deliveries today, and there wasn’t time to waste. “Let’s do it again sometime.”

You heard only spiteful chatter back, so you were just about to cross the street again when it disappeared.

You hit your face hard on the concrete before you passed out, and only thought before you were dead to the world, _Damn, I was just going to take my passport photos…_

\---

When you woke up, you were immediately assaulted by a migraine and a churning stomach.

“Fuck,” you moaned, nearly throwing up in the effort it took to utter the curse. It was worse than any hangover you’d ever had — and you’d had a lot.

“What the hell did you do to me!?” a really angry guy yelled from directly behind you, blasting sound into your ears. The abrupt transition from quiet to owie made your ears ring, and then you threw up on your boots.

“I didn’t do jack shit!” you protested once you finished spitting up the sour taste, annoyed as hell. You looked down, realizing that not only had you ruined your really nice boots — you were tied to a metal chair, bound with chains that restricted even the wiggling of your fingers behind your back. You rocked, but it was solid. Damn.

“Yeah, right. _You’re_ walking away then ‘poof’, kinky sex dungeon? Is this how you get off?” the gravelly voice was familiar now, and you remembered with somewhat of a jolt that it was Dean, the PMS’ing customer.

“I… nevermind, I don’t want to argue with you.” You sighed with exasperation, looking around in your surroundings. It was a cracked, musty and very shitty basement made fully with cement, but there was no exit. None… at all. No door, no window. “How did we even get _in_ here?” you asked Dean after noting your findings to him.

“Angels? I hate those feathery assholes,” Dean muttered to himself, twisting in his seat to try and get a better look. You huffed — whenever he moved, it was like an extremely taut rope pulled you to follow.

“Stop!” you told him crossly, pulling him back into a normal position so you weren’t leaning so sharply to the right you feared your spine would give out. He grunted as you hauled him to sit straight. You had no ideas angels existed — or why they were feathery anuses — but you decided to shove that away. Priorities. “Where’s… uh, Sam?”

“I’d like to know myself,” Dean said crossly.

Before you could add an equally annoyed response for him to watch his attitude, a fat naked guy blinked to existence in front of you.

“Hi!” he said cheerfully.

“What the fuck?!” you screamed, not so cheerfully. You leered back in disgust, and you faintly heard Dean wildly asking what was going on. You didn’t really know. You did _not_ sign up for hairy old men teleporting to you while you were chained in a chair with a grumpy fart.

“Oh, that’s not nice,” Naked Thunder pouted, waddling backwards away from you. He turned and crossed his arms. You averted your gaze to the ceiling quickly before he turned back around.

“Cupid?” Dean exclaimed, writhing in his seat to get a better look (although you weren’t sure why he wanted to).

“Yay, Dean recognizes me! Gimme a hug!” Super Naked turned just when you deemed it safe to look (which it wasn’t), and ran up to you to squeeze you in a hug (which was unpleasant to say the very least).

“I’m not Dean,” you choked out, unable to push him away. “Not Dean! Not Dean!”

“I know,” the Cupid/Nude Fury replied happily, shrugging exaggeratedly. “But you’ll soon be Mrs. Winchester.”

Pause. “What?” you and Dean asked in unison, your voices echoing around the enclosed room in harmony.

“You see, I’m not really a cherub anymore.” Not-Cupid began to pace around the two of you. “They kicked me off the team.”

“Oh great, Rogue Cupid kidnapped me. Great,” Dean groaned from behind you. You shushed him irritably.

“Well, why’d they do that to you poor thing?” you asked sweetly. Maybe you could charm him to let you go. You felt Dean shudder behind you.

“Because I like to mark the wrong people together. And right now, you two are the nemesis of the other. Ooh, spicy! I love drama. But nooo, I have to follow the rules.” Not-Cupid took a moment to spit for dramatic effect, covering you in the spray. You nearly threw up again.

“So, what you’re saying is…” you asked, afraid of the answer to come.

“Yep! I marked both of your guys’ soul. You two are now bound together for life!” he said while clapping his hands together, breaking the news like he would present you with some freshly baked cookies.

“Uh,” Dean said wisely. “…forever and ever?”

“Forever and ever and _ever_! And the best part is, my spells give me the power to summon magic bonds!” Not-Cupid twiddled his fingers, and the chains around you fell. You stood eagerly, as did Dean.

“Big mistake!” Dean said triumphantly, bringing out a switchblade in his jean pockets. He took a step towards Not-Cupid, only before a painful tug on your wrist sent you flying towards him like a bungee cord was attached to you. You yelped, actually skidding on air for a millisecond before slamming into Dean’s back. He fell on his chin, and you rolled to the side, hitting your head equally as hard.

“Magic bonds,” Not-Cupid mused to himself. He clapped his hands. “I love them! Better than any type of handcuff in the world!”

“Get rid of them!” you yelled, managing to get to your fours. Dean looked to be out cold, his knife clattered across the floor.

“Hmm… no. Have fun, kids!”

And then you were gone again.


	2. Chapter 2

You awoke again, with the same nausea and splitting headache as the first time. You’d have thought a second teleportation might’ve been better than the first, but instead you just puked again.

Sexy. 

You found yourself in a room you didn’t recognize — at least not from the now vomit stained carpet. You managed to get on your hands and knees, spitting out the bile left behind. 

You then remembered the whole Naked-Evil-Not-Cupid incident. Your breath hitched and your eyes instinctively drifted to your right before you shut them, hoping that nobody would be there. Just a bad dream. Just some good drinks. _Please_ , you prayed to whatever was up there shaking his ass and singing ‘na na na na na na’ in your face, _please don’t let there be a guy next to me._

You turned and looked.

“What the _fuck_ was _that_?!”

Nope, there was definitely somebody there.

“Ahh!” you screamed at him, scrambling to your feet. Hadn’t he been knocked out before the space travel thing? 

He didn’t react to your hoarse voice, instead taking his time to draw himself to his knees. His hand was up to block the light as if it was too bright.

“God, I swear that if I see that bastard again, I’ll — ” Dean’s low threat was unfinished when he was suddenly jerked to his feet, making him literally leaving his sentence in mid-air. You had backed away literally only a centimeter — and that invisible bungee cord jerked your wrist so that you flew forwards to collide with his body halfway.

“Ow!” you complained, pushing him away. You rubbed your right wrist. There was nothing there.

You tried to recall what Not-Cupid had said. Something about… magic bonds? Fuck, you only sold the goods! You were never directly _involved_ in all this magic scary shit! You didn’t deserve this. Especially not being linked to your, what was it, nemesis?

“Okay, okay. How far away can we get from each other?” Dean snapped his fingers in front of your dazed eyes. You tried to focus. Magic love link first. Mental breakdown later.

“Uh… two feet?” you guessed, judging from the distance of your and his hand now. “It’s on my right hand.”

“Great. Just fucking — okay. Don’t get two feet away from my left then,” he sighed gruffly, and was already walking. You yelped in surprise and ran after him, not wanting to be bounced around like a dog on a stretchy leash. When you caught pace with him, you realized the hotel room you were in was lavishly decorated with roses and chocolates and everything cheesy from thereon. Gifts from Not-Cupid.

“Ew,” you said in disgust. Your nose wrinkled. You couldn’t stand ‘romance’ that all other women your age pleaded for. You were allergic to roses, too. 

“What, don’t like free food?” You hadn’t noticed, but when you turned to face him Dean was picking up the boxes of chocolates on the round plastic table. He turned around with a childish grin on his face. 

“What are you, 12?” you scoffed, but automatically took the boxes when Dean dumped them in your hands. You opened the heart shaped one on top — and inside were what appeared to be truffles. Dean immediately took two and stuffed them in his mouth.

“Good,” he commented through a full mouth.

“What if they’re poisoned?” you remarked dryly, closing the box up. Dean stiffened for a second, but then shrugged, swallowing defiantly. He turned and began stalking off again, leaving you sighing and dropping the boxes on the floor with a thud.

Out of all people to be chained to, you had to get the idiot.

\---

“Where are we, and where are we _going_?” you asked for the infinite time, now very angrily. He’d dragged you out of the hotel fire escape so that you wouldn’t have to go past the front desk — and you had a hard time on the rusty and wobbly stairs on the outside of the building. 

_”Just jump!” Dean said, annoyed. You would both have to jump together to avoid the disastrous consequences of the magic bond thing, but you weren’t too keen in jumping into garbage. Flies buzzed upwards from the dumpster, searching your shoes for food. You kicked them away._

_“No,” you said firmly, “I’m not doing it.”_

_“Fine,” Dean muttered, and pushed you after grasping your hand._

You self-consciously touched your hair, which probably looked extremely shitty after landing face first in a pile of rotting fish. Resentfully, you stormed ahead to face Dean. He finally stopped.

“Tell me!” you demanded.

“We’re going to find Sammy, because this is the opposite side of town. I recognize it. Don’t you _live_ here?” he scowled, pushing you aside to continue on.

“No, I travelled all the way here for you bruised-n’-battered ballsacks. What were you even hunting anyways?”

“Bruised — oh, whatever. It’s a pack of werewolves. But now I can’t do shit, because I’m chained with _you_.”

Explains the silver, you thought. 

“I am offended,” you muttered at his spiteful comment, though not really offended. “I think I saved your life in there. Maybe.”

Dean scoffed, rolling his eyes. Then he seemed to spot something across the street. 

“Baby!” he shouted, taking off so quickly you actually spun on your heel to have to chase after him. 

“What?” you asked, bewildered. You scanned the opposite street you were hurtling towards. Was it a girlfriend? His… brother…? You winced internally at the thought of Dean screaming ‘Hey, baby bro!’ and running into the taller man’s arms. 

Instead, he leapt to a black car that you recognized from earlier, during the transaction. It must be his. Dean rapped his knuckles on the hood, grinning wildly again.

“So that means Sam’s close, right?” you asked through heavy gasps (phys. ed. was not your class), eager to see the more reasonable brother.

“He should be. This is the morgue,” Dean pointed at the building that you had disregarded. It was tall and not very official looking, but then again, you didn’t know the town. He looked at you, and then frowned.

“What?” you asked touchily. You crossed your arms over your kinda smelly shirt.

“You can’t… go in like that,” he said, ridiculing in tone.

“Who said I want to go in there?” you retorted, shivering. You had forgotten it was cold, only noticing the light drifting snow now. You crossed your arms over your thin jacket. “I don’t want to see dead bodies.”

Dean held up his hand in dismissal. “Too bad, bitch.”

“What did you say? You can’t call people bitch, that’s not nice!”

\---

One drive and pantsuit later, you angrily unbuttoned your blazer as Dean sped over the speed limit again. You had to hold your right hand across your body so that it moved with Dean’s left, since the magical 2 feet distance was _very_ picky. You remembered the change room of the store again, and shuddered.

“I hate it,” you said bitterly for the millionth time, to make sure Dean hadn’t forgotten. “It hurts my boobs.”

“Normally, I’d love to know that. Not from you.” Dean scowled again, checking in the side mirror for police. He stepped on the accelerator again, pushing you back into the seat. “Did you call Sam for me?”

“No, because you never asked!”

Dean sighed. “It’s in my pocket.”

“What is? Your tiny dick?”

Dean inhaled sharply and made a face that expressed forceful calm. “No. My. Cell phone.”

“So you admit you have a tiny dick — ?”

“Just take the damn cell and call Sam!” Dean barked, swerving to the right to avoid a honking car. 

“Okay, okay, jeez. Calm down, you fart,” you muttered. You patted his right pocket, and then realized it wasn’t there.

“Left.”

“What?” you’d have to reach all the way across his body for that. Wouldn’t it be easier to take your hand and get the cell yourself?

“Just take the damn thing!”

“Fuck you,” you growled, lunging across his lap to find the left pocket of his suit jacket. It was buttoned. You spent a good amount of time fumbling with it before it finally got through. You found the phone and pulled back into your seat, buckling your seatbelt back with a hideous blush on your face. People probably thought you had just blew him or something. You cringed. “If you have a boner, I _will_ kill you.”

“Unfortunately, the little guy is disgusted. Sorry to ruin your hopes.”

You dialed the contact listed as Sam, nearly pushing your thumb through the phone with the force in which you pressed call.

\---

“So, let me get this straight.”

“What is there left to straighten?” you asked, exasperatedly. You hadn’t taken off the pants but tore off the blazer as soon as you’d gotten into the Winchester’s (you’d just learnt their last name 2 minutes ago) motel room, opting for your old shirt. You now sported a dazzling, fashionable combo of a Doctor Who tee with black dress pants, earning what you would tag on your Instagram, ‘swog’.

“You two… my brother and some chick we just met… are soul mates,” Sam repeated the shortened story pointedly with his eyebrows raised high.

“No, just bonded together forever,” Dean corrected. You nodded.

“So, soul mates.”

“No, chained. Like prisoners,” you corrected. Dean nodded.

“…okay,” Sam nodded a few times, pursing his lips. “So… you’re stuck with us. Forever?”

“Yep,” you replied nonchalantly, as if it was no big deal.

“At a 2 foot distance at all times?”

“Yeah.”

Sam suddenly grinned, looking up at his older brother. “Dean, it’s like you just got married!”

Dean scowled. “Not funny.”

You scowled too, although it didn’t look as dramatic. “ _So_ not funny.”

Sam laughed this time, and you rubbed your temples. If you did treat your new death sentence as marriage (which was essentially the same thing anyways), your new brother-in-law sucked.

“Well, let’s call it a day. We’ll look for, uh…”

“Not-Cupid,” you supplied.

“Not-Cupid tomorrow. Hey, how are you guys going to shower?”

“Go to hell, Sammy,” Dean grunted, getting off the table he was resting against and walking away. You stood automatically and tagged after him, not wanting to get slammed into the wall again (which had happened earlier when Dean accidentally got up to pace when you weren’t looking).

“You’re not actually going to go shower, are you?” you asked nervously. _You_ wanted to, but after considering the weirdness of Dean sitting on the toilet reading porn while waiting for you with his hand raised to the curtain, you decided it’d be fine to smell like fish for a bit. 

“No, I’m going to bed.”

“Oh my god, do we have to sleep together?” your sudden outburst gave you a stunned and horrified look, so you corrected yourself with an embarrassed face, “I mean, sleep in the same bed.”

“Probably. I don’t think I can even get onto the floor without you flying everywhere like a yoyo,” Dean muttered resentfully.

Skip a few awkward bedtime preparations, you getting under the cover while he tried to as well and then resorting to him grudgingly settling on top of the blanket to separate you, and some pleasant internal screaming, and here we are. You had considered offering to hold hands so that it would avoid the entire watching thing, but the burning look on Dean’s face when you suggested ‘sleeping together’ made you think not to.

“Fuck,” you whispered to yourself, turning away from Dean. 

“Hey, don’t get too rowdy over there, kids!” Sam snickered from the bed opposite. You threw a pillow at him, not realizing it was your right hand… until it was too late. 

As you let your hand fly forwards, the magical bond did its thing and you sent Dean crushingly rolling over your body and clattering onto the floor. Then, it happened again, and Dean jerked back up the side of the bed to hit his head with yours. It would’ve been funny, if you hadn’t wanted to cry.

And he _had_ to be an attractive idiot, too.


	3. Chapter 3

When you woke up, Dean had wrapped his leg over your body. His snore fluttered a piece of your hair. You nearly screamed, but sucked it up and pushed him off your body instead. It took all of your effort, and he only jerked awake when you punched him in the shoulder blade. He was alert immediately, a curse half uttered before you shushed him.

“It’s…” Dean paused to check the digital clock on the bedside table, “3:45 AM! Why’d you wake me up?”

“I…” you didn’t really know how to word it. “Um.”

“Okay, well, _I’m_ going back to sleep.” Dean rolled over, kicking a sock off his probably smelly foot and snorting as he got settled back in. You bit your lip. You shook his shoulder, getting an annoyed groan in response. 

“I gotta… go to the washroom.”

Dean stiffened. “How badly?”

“Like, I almost peed my pants on you, bad.”

Dean moaned, and sat up. In the dimness you saw him run a hand through his hair, which was already oddly pressed by the way he’d slept. 

“Then let’s go,” he muttered ‘enthusiastically’ with obvious pain.

\---

You flicked on the washroom light, which came to life after a few stressed flickers. You eyed the toilet, then Dean.

“Anyway you can… stand out the door?” you asked.

He tested it by pulling his arm back, but you automatically shuffled forwards. Dean sighed grumpily. 

“Just… just go. Take a tinkle or whatever girls do.”

“Well, it could be a number tw — okay, okay, I’m going!” You shuffled to the toilet. You raised the lid. 

Dean was turned, his hand rubbing his cheek with the other supporting his elbow. He was obviously falling back asleep standing up — how did anybody even do that? — but his presence just made you want to die instead of pee. 

“How about you get in the shower?” you brought up, startling him back awake. “And like, draw the curtain.”

“What? No! Just take a piss!”

“Please?” you pouted, still sitting on the toilet with your right hand raised like a kid in math class. “I’m not going until you do.”

Dean glared at you, before obliging reluctantly. He sighed deeply to let you know his irritation and stepped into the sketchy tub, drawing the curtain with a sharp screech.

“…um, do you want to start humming too, so you don’t have to hear — ”

“Just _go_!”

\---

Sam entered the kitchen somewhere at ten o’clock to see you and Dean sitting there silently and sullenly, each sipping mugs of bad coffee alternatingly like machines mimicking each other. 

“Whoa. Rough night?” he asked, scratching his head. A smile played at his face. He was having too much fun. 

You both turned to look at him with dead expressions in your eyes.

“Yeah. Um, okay. Anyways, we’re going to have to get into the morgue to look into the bodies today. They’re going to burn ‘em tomorrow.”

“Whoa, burn the bodies?” you turned in your chair, interested. “How’re you going to get into the place?”

You turned back around to face Dean, half his body slumped out of his chair to follow your hand. His expression was not one of anger, just defeat. “Sorry,” you apologized quickly, letting him sit back in his chair. 

“Why didn’t you just look at the bodies yesterday, Sam?” Dean asked once he’d settled into a socially acceptable position again. “You were there for an hour.”

You remembered — when you phoned Sam, he had already made it to the motel room. Dean assumed he was finished business and headed there as well. 

“Yeah, well, I kinda offended the Head Coroner, so security won’t let me get past a 10 foot radius of the building.” Sam said this all with only a shred of sheepishness and no explanation of how he’d pissed a guy off so badly that he was banned from the place.

“Kinda?” you repeated, expecting a response. It didn’t come. 

“Great,” Dean muttered, leaning back into his chair and kicking his feet onto the table. You reached for another sip of coffee, shrugging.

“Well, sucks for you guys. Hey, was H.C cute?”

“H… oh, Head Coroner. Um, I wouldn’t… know?” Sam looked uncomfortable with the question, shrugging on his jacket. “I’m going to go get some food.”

“Wait — when are you getting into the morgue? Aren’t they burning the bodies you need tomorrow?” you repeated your earlier unanswered question, raising your eyebrows. 

“Well, we’re breaking in tonight,” Dean said matter-of-factly. You turned to look at him, with wide eyes.

“That’s illegal!” you protested.

“Yeah, and selling unauthorized weapons isn’t?” he scoffed, picking his nails. You frowned.

“That’s different,” you defended. You sighed. “No, it isn’t.”

“Oh, speaking of which, I finished your ID badge.” Sam saved the awkward lack of conversation by throwing a black wallet onto the table, making you flinch. You opened it, only to be greeted by your stern face. You looked good as a G-Girl, you mused. Agent Hill... that sounded oddly familiar, but — 

“Wait, how’d you get this picture? It’s the one on my license… and you never asked to see my wallet?”

Sam chose to leave instead of answering. Dean looked away. 

“You _did not_ steal my wallet out of my pants when I was sleeping.”

“No, I borrowed it. I _did_ steal your twenty.”

“Give it back, asshole!”

\---

“Hey, why didn’t you just make Dean and I go instead earlier?” you asked grumpily in the shotgun of the Impala. “I could’ve totally charmed the guy to letting us in.”

Dean scoffed, making you hit him in the shoulder. “Ow!” he jerked away, rubbing his arm. 

Sam rustled in the backseat. “Well, you’re not that experienced in this kind of… stuff. Besides, I need to see it too.”

“iPhone cameras were made for a reason,” you grumbled, almost crossing your arms before realizing it would be wiser not to. 

You nearly fell asleep when Dean woke you with his loud voice, “It’s ten-thirty. Let’s go.”

Sam opened the backseat door and exited immediately, but with you it was much more of a challenge. You and Dean experienced this struggle early on, and found that the only way to do so was to get in and out of the same door. Dean opened his and looked at you expectantly. 

With a sigh, you grabbed his wrist and let him haul you out. You tried your best not to step on his upholstery, and in turn ended up tripping on the door. You tumbled out the car, making a noise that would make an elephant cringe.

Dean said nothing, but closed the door of his car very quietly. You thought it was of embarrassment of being attached to _you_ , the obvious Sex Goddess, but then you saw his chest rumbling.

“Don’t laugh, jerk,” you mumbled, hurt. 

“Guys?” Sam was waiting impatiently by the already picked door.

Dean allowed himself a chuckle before shaking free of your grasp, which you had forgotten to let go of. 

You mimicked his laugh resentfully, stowing your hands in your pockets and following behind with heavy footsteps.


	4. Chapter 4

You saw Sam flick on a thin black flashlight in his hand, peering down the hall. You shivered unconsciously, the tremors running through your body like a slow shock. It was a cold night, frigid even, yet the thoughts of spirits running their cold and slim fingers down your neck made you shudder even worse. 

Even worse than gross dead neck-rapists, you were sleepy as hell. You hadn’t gotten any rest after the traumatic pee incident, and even before that you only had an hour of fretful nightmares involving naked sumo wrestlers and being handcuffed in a hot Californian gazebo with Fabio. You yawned widely. Oh, how it wasn’t so.

“Uh, hey,” Dean interrupted you with a hushed whisper, looking at you strangely. You realized that your eyes were squeezed shut from trying to reimagine the hot scene, and that a bunch of tears was running down your face. Probably from the yawn.

“...eh?” you mumbled, sniffling. Snot dripped down your nose. Damn, it was cold. It was March, goddammit! Flowers should be under your feet, not snow. You looked at Dean, your eyelashes fluttering from the burn of keeping them open. Maybe you should’ve drank better coffee.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah. Why?” Your tone was suspicious.

“Uh, okay. Don’t worry about it, Sam and I will protect you.” Dean suddenly put an arm around your shoulder, surprising you greatly. It clicked — he thought you were panic crying. You fought the urge to smile. _What a cutie dweeb at heart_ , you thought to yourself almost smugly. Instead, you sniffled again.

“Yeah, okay,” you mumbled, pushing him off of you. You wiped your nose and stepped into the building, pulling Dean after you. 

“Hey, stop. You’re shaking,” Dean noticed, a flashlight mysteriously appearing in his own hand. He looked you over, keeping the beam angled to your feet. You were shivering because it was fucking cold as Santa’s balls, yes, but you weren’t going to let him know that. 

“I’m fine,” you said again, holding your hand out for the flashlight. When he didn’t pass it to you, you beckoned with your fingers. “You’ll need to keep your weapon out. I’ll hold it.”

Dean looked at you again, but didn’t say anything else. He gave you the flashlight, before suddenly grasping your wrist. His hand slid into yours.

“We should, uh, stay close. So that we don’t get too far, okay?” His voice was gruff but had heavy tones of concern, and you were more than happy to keep playing the vulnerable card. You passed the cheap plastic to your left hand, watching him draw out yet another pocketknife. 

“How many of those do you have in your pants?” you remarked dryly. He hesitated for a second as if really doing a mental count, shrugged, and then pulled you along gently. His hand was rough and calloused, but it felt more like worn leather than dead-and-peeling skin. You were content in his warmth. 

Well, if you put it that way, it seems sappy. Let’s just say you just like to toy with people’s feelings. And it was, as phrased earlier, ‘cold as Santa’s balls’.

“Here,” Sam’s voice echoed from ahead. He pushed a door open, the print on the window so faded you couldn’t read it. You didn’t mind — you’d watched enough crime shows to recognize the metal cubicles in the walls held bodies.

It was a quick find to find the one the Winchesters needed. You held your breath as they pulled it out slowly… pulled back the white sheet… and…

“Ew!” you exclaimed in a whisper shout, recoiling from the frozen male. He was portly and hairy, reminding you greatly of Not-Cupid, only the man was missing a small thing called an entire abdomen. 

A hole was torn deeply into the man’s chest. Peering inside, all you could see was a mess of red, but Sam read aloud the report. No heart. 

“Double ew,” you muttered, once he’d gotten to the whole heart thing. “So, werewolf?”

“Seems like it… only, something’s off.” Sam frowned, taking the flashlight beam and directing it into the empty cavity. You didn’t look away, because it didn’t really bother you. You only felt nauseous when Sam plunged his hand in (after donning a pair of gloves, thank goodness). The squishing noise was a lot grosser in real life than it was on TV. You clenched Dean’s hand, and he squeezed back after delay from surprise. 

“What’s weird?” you asked, holding your breath so you didn’t have to smell the formaldehyde. 

“It’s too clean,” Dean interjected before Sam could reply. “Werewolves rip the hearts out of people’s chests… this was a clean cut. With a knife.”

“So… some crazy doctor serial killer? Not your crap, right?” you reasoned. Unless the crazy doctor was a boogy monster at night, you were pretty sure nothing supernatural came out of this.

“We got a tip from a friend,” Dean rejected stubbornly, scratching his face with the hand that held the knife. “Bobby’s never wrong.”

“Bobby?” you repeated, confused, but Sam interrupted you. 

“We should call him tomorrow. I don’t think there’s anything else to see here.” He took off the bloody gloves and tossed them out.

“Isn’t that leaving behind evidence?” you asked, pointing to the lone and bloody pair of gloves in the recently changed trashcan. “I mean, they’re sure to suspect the guy they just put a restraining order on.”

“Good thing they’re idiots. Let’s go.” ‘Let’s go’ seemed to be his favourite phrase, it seemed. Dean waited impatiently for Sam to reseal the cubicle and dragged the trio back to the car. 

He pushed you into the car from the driver’s seat, and after an awkward climb you were comfortable again. 

“So, what’s the plan?” you asked, turning around so you could face Sam. He was checking his phone for something. The light from it illuminated his face weirdly, reminding you of ghost stories. Ironic, those were now, considering your job occupation. 

“We’re not that far from Sioux Falls,” he said absentmindedly, scrolling through something. “We should just head over there so we can explain the uh…” he looked up and gestured towards you, “situation.”

“Who’s this Bobby guy?” you asked, turning to Dean to see if he’d reply. He turned the key in the ignition, letting the car rumble to life. 

“We knew him since we were kids. He’s the most trustworthy guy we’ve ever known.”

“Really? Well, what about your dad?”

The question seemed to ring a painful memory between the brothers, and so it created silence. You guessed it immediately — hunters usually had daddy issues. 

“Sorry,” you apologized immediately, dropping your gaze and turning to sit normally. “Shouldn’t have asked.”

“Bobby’s a better dad than the one I had,” Sam said bitterly in the back. You couldn’t see his face, but you could imagine it to be sour.

“Hey. Dad did the best he could,” Dean snapped from the front, pulling out onto the road. You pressed your lips together, feeling Dean’s agitation as he pressed on the accelerator aggressively. 

You sunk into your chair quietly. “Nice family,” you muttered to yourself. You felt like a part of the reunion already.

You fell asleep to the sweet sound of bitchy, tension filled silence.


	5. Chapter 5

You arrived to Bobby’s place when the sun had just risen. Dean shook you awake, his usually clear green eyes bleary. 

“We’re here,” he said, clearing his throat to remove some phlegm. You nodded and sat up, contemplating how much your ass hurt, only to have a jacket slide off of you. You picked it up off the garbage littered floor, eyeing it curiously. It looked like —

Dean snatched it back from you, looking almost embarrassed as he tucked it under his arm. He looked away from you but held out his arm, and you climbed out of the car with more ease than usual. You jumped out onto the gravelly ground, inhaling sweet country air. 

The field of broken cars was like a long meadow in front of you — stretching out until it was out of sight. Dean had parked under some sort of overhang, a sign nailed to the thickest post. The largest letters, in faded red, read ‘Singer’s Auto’. The small space had a table with parts strewn across it like toys, and was stacked with miscellaneous items you couldn’t identify. 

Looking at all the cars, you suddenly paled. “Shit!” you exclaimed, slamming your hands to your face.

“What?” Sam asked, alarmed. Dean had his knife out.

“Where is it?” he demanded, full battle-mode engaged.

“I left all my stuff in my car,” you explained through your fingers in a whine. “It’s probably towed.”

“Okay, so you lose a couple of bucks. So what?” Dean muttered, sourness written across his face. He stowed the knife.

“And my iPhone, all my clothes, my make-up, and…” you didn’t really want to tell them anything else, but they got the gist. You groaned again. “Some shitty kid probably stole everything already. Agh, I fuckin’ hate kids!”

“Hey, well, you didn’t lose anything… _important_ , did you?” Sam asked tentatively, the emphasis on ‘important’ probably referring to your side business as a weapons dealer.

“No,” you said miserably. “All my _important_ stuff is stashed at my apartment in Canada.”

“You’re Canadian?” both brothers asked with wide eyes. You glared at them.

“No, my safe house is there. Hey, I lost like, 500 dollars worth of stuff! You should all cry for me right now,” you muttered, annoyed. 

“Canadian,” you heard Dean mumble as he slammed the door of the Impala shut. 

“Hey, they’re a lot nice than you, jackass!”

\---

“Bobby?” Sam called out once he opened the door. “It’s Sam and Dean! And somebody… else.” He cast you sort of a guilty look, but you shrugged it off. You were kind of used to the whole magic and attached forever thing. 

Haha, that was a lie. You weren’t.

Dean threw his jacket onto a nearby couch as if he owned the place, leading you into the kitchen. You followed without complaint for once, drinking in your surroundings. The wallpaper was hideous. The tables were cluttered with papers and books of all shapes and sizes. The couch was torn and the chairs were mismatched. The air was dusty and stale.

Dean opened the fridge in the kitchen, offering you a beer. You gladly accepted it.

“I like it,” you said to him, taking a swig. He looked at you out the corner of his eye, before setting down his drink. He joined you on the counter where you leaned, looking out into the living room. 

“Like what?” he asked.

“The place. It’s nice.”

Dean scoffed. “I find it kind of shitty. Never knew your expectations were so low.”

You rolled your eyes, and they settled on his. “I like it because it looks lived in. Worn.” You looked away. “Yeah. It might be shitty, but… it’s nice.”

“Big words,” Dean teased, taking another go at his bottle. You knocked him on the shoulder, nearly making him spurt out the drink. You laughed.

Interrupting you, an unfamiliar voice echoed from down the hall. “Why the hell are you back so soon, idjits? Don’t tell me you killed the werewolf already. You’re not smart enough for that.”

Just after, Sam reappeared with a scruffy, port, old man with a rifle and a bloody machete in his equally stained hand. The man stopped, looked at you, and stared.

“Who the hell are you?” he asked, eyes bulging.

“Wow, my in-law is so nice,” you joked, though that just earned you a scathing look from Dean.

\---

Once Bobby had gotten cleaned up, you and Dean each took turns telling the story. Bobby sat across from you and him, with Sam on the far right side, each member of the dysfunctional family holding some sort of strong alcoholic beverage in hand.

When you were done, Bobby whistled in a low tone. “Balls.”

“He say that often?” you asked Dean in a careful whisper. He waved you off. 

“So, Bobby, what d’you got? Anything on getting rid of magic bonds?”

“Well, if you ask me, they sound ridiculous.” He scoffed, adjusting the front of his cap. 

“Well, they’re here, so _I’m_ here,” you said sullenly, peering into your empty bottle. “Got a fix for us, gramps?”

“Hey, I’m not that old yet,” Bobby shot back at you touchily. He sighed. “I’d have to look into it. Don’t have much on cupids…”

“Why don’t we just ask Cas? Maybe he can help,” Sam added after a long period of silence. 

“I didn’t want to bother him,” Dean said quickly.

“In other words, you’re embarrassed,” you summarized easily. He looked at you with an incredulous look. “What? I’d be embarrassed too. Anyways, who’s this Cas guy?”

“That would be me.”

You screamed again, jumping back into the sofa, though nobody else seemed to notice that a man had just appeared into thin air. Again.

“Dean! What is it, another cupid? Kill it!” you shrieked, pointing at the dirty trench coat. The man looked down to where your finger was, directly at his crotch.

“Calm down,” Dean said, pushing your arm down hurriedly. “He’s a friend.”

“ _What_?” you looked up at him. “Unbelievable. You have magic friends who just teleport around?”

“Actually, I fly,” Cas said quietly, making you want to scream again. 

Instead, you said, “….cool.”

Cas looked at Dean seriously. “I am not cold. What is she referring to?”

Dean sighed heavily, rubbing a palm through his hair. He leant forwards onto his knees. “Cas, it’s a long story, and I don’t want to tell it aga — ”

“Oh, yes. The rogue cupid has marked yours and her souls both so that you will be bonded together for life at a 2 foot distance, until you either fall in love or kill each other.” Cas said this all with a very pleasant tone.

“Dean?” you asked after a shocked silence. “Can I have another beer?”


	6. Chapter 6

With a new drink in hand, you pointed at the scruffy trench coat guy. “So, you’re an angel. Named Castiel. And, angels exist. And so does… God.”

“Yes, that is correct.” The child of the Lord sat in front of you, smiling as if he was at a family dinner. 

“There goes my atheism,” you tried to joke, but weakly. 

“Now, the real point. I either die, or fall in _love_? And how do you even know her name? Or about any of this crap at all?” Dean asked, jerking a thumb towards you.

“Hey, I’m very popular within hunter’s circles,” you defended yourself, “lots of people know me!”

“Yes, well, you pray often, so we hear — ”

You were red in two seconds flat. “Shut up!” Then, panicky, “wait, am I going to hell for saying ‘shut up’ to an angel?”

Dean was smiling. “You can definitely say worse. Oh, and you pray, Miss. Tough girl?”

“Used to!”

“Girls, girls,” Bobby broke apart your argument. “Focus on the task at hand.”

You crossed your arms irritably. “Fine,” you muttered, looking away from Dean.

“I can’t help you, though. I am sorry.”

“What?” Dean asked sharply, leaning forwards. “What do you mean? Just do your magic thing! Or go beat up cupid!”

“Well… once a soul has been marked, it’s marked for life. And, since you have magic bonds, well, let’s just say you’re cursed.”

You spat your mouthful back into the bottle, also leaning forwards. “Cursed?” you exclaimed, eyes wide with fear. “What do you mean? Like, mummy shit?”

“That victim you saw at the morgue was one of many. He was just discovered faster. They are all victims of cupid,” Cas said in a stern tone, his face serious. “The marks placed on you were not meant to be. The magic bonds are a dark spell… if left for too long, it will corrupt the soul until you are no longer human and you will do anything to free yourself.”

“So, that guy with his heart cut out?” you gaped.

“His female partner, a heart surgeon, did so.”

You leaned back into the sofa with a heavy _whump_. “I’m going to end up being murdered, or murder _him_?”

“Well, not if you fall in love first.”

Dean rubbed his right temple, looking up at the angel. “This sounds like a really crappy fairytale.”

Cas only nodded in agreement. “Yes, the cupid does have a liking to, ah, happy-ever-afters. And tragic endings.”

“Is there anything you can do to help?” you pleaded in a soft voice. 

Cas only tilted his head. “No. I apologize deeply.” He looked down, eyelashes fluttering. “I suppose…”

“What? What do you suppose?” Dean perked up suddenly, energy regained. “Tell us, Cas! Our lives depend on it!”

“If you slay the cupid, then the spell might be released.” Cas looked dubious. “But it will be difficult. Even _I_ can’t sense him right now… and since he is using spells, I can only imagine what else he has up his sleeve,” he warned.

“So we just have to find an untraceable, evil, witch cupid before we kill each other. And we have to remain at a distance of 2 feet at each other.” You slumped even more.

“Or, you could just fall in love,” Cas mentioned again, deliberately loudly. 

“Not. Happening,” Dean forced through gritted teeth. 

“Okay, so we have a plan?” Sam added uncomfortably. Bobby was busy rubbing his forehead in pain. 

“Oh, and you?” Cas looked at you pointedly and sympathetically. “I sense that your menstrual cycle starts in approximately two minutes. I suggest you prepare for it.”

And he was gone.


	7. Chapter 7

“Uh,” you said awkwardly, trying to ignore the heat of the 3 pairs of eyes on you. “I guess… I’ll have to… go to the store…?”

“There’s a small supermarket a few miles down,” Bobby said, obviously trying not to add to the pressure on you.

“I can lend you some money,” Sam offered, looking down and turning a light pink. 

“Wait,” Dean said sternly. You looked at him, slightly afraid with the dark expression on his face.

“Wh-what?” you asked, your voice kind of shaky. His face was screwed up in thought.

“Did he mean… you’re on your… period?”

You just managed to stop yourself from taking Dean’s knife and stabbing yourself.

\---

Sam had bravely volunteered to go, and you admired him greatly for it, but decided it was best you went yourself. You kind of doubted Sam knew how to match eye shadows or outfits. 

Dean drove you there in the Impala, despite his strong and obvious emotions of not wanting to. An uncomfortable silence had settled between the two of you. 

“So, what Cas said… ‘bout the bonds…” you tried to break the tension.

“Yeah. Cupid. We should find out how to kill one, set up traps.” Dean was brief and short, obviously not wanting to contribute anything to conversation than information that needed to be conveyed.

You sighed. “You know you’re going to have to stand there with me while I stick cotton into my hoo-ha to prevent blood leaking everywhere.”

Dean swerved abruptly, and you decided to just shut up.

\---

“Well. That’s it,” you said, pointing into the feminine hygiene section. You looked at Dean, seeing the internal pain written all across his face. “Um… you okay?”

“Never readier,” he muttered. He looked pretty funny with a red plastic basket in his hand — you could only imagine him with a pistol. Hilarious still — it was time to go tampon shopping.

You walked with ease into the isle, your eyes passing over the multi-coloured plastic packages easily until you found the ones you wanted. Dean, however, struggled.

“You have scented… what? Why?”

“Because girls like to smell nice,” you replied, throwing a package into the basket.

“What’s that?”

“Um, liners. They’re for when you don’t know if it’s starting or ending…”

“What the — how many sizes are there? There’s like, five pictures of the same thing.”

“I… don’t know.”

“What’s _this_?”

“Tampons? No — no, you shouldn’t use them for nosebleeds like on _She’s the Man_. Give me those.”

“What’s — ”

“We’re going, Dean!”

Your frantic shushing of his stupid questions attracted the attention of many, so you basically sprinted into the next aisle. Your face was red and you breathed heavily.

“Hey, would you use passion-fruit flavoured condoms? Heh.”

You realized which aisle you had gone into and squeaked, sprinting off again.

Life would never be easy.

\---

A bag of make-up, feminine hygiene products, and pie later — you were back. 

“Hey,” Sam greeted, but you ignored him and brushed past. 

“Somebody’s on their period,” Dean said with a huge grin. Nobody laughed. 

You pulled impatiently, accidentally jerking Dean into the wall.

Now, you laughed.

\---

“Okay,” you said cheerfully, plopping down beside Sam where he sat on the couch. He jumped, and then jumped again when Dean sat down even more heavily.

“I take back all the thoughts of wanting to be a chick,” he said in a sort of hollow voice. “I take it all back.”

You rolled your eyes instead. “Suck it up, you pussy.” You noticed the TV remote dangling in Sam’s awkward hands and grabbed it from him, eyeing the buttons greedily. You’d been starved of entertainment for what, two days? Oh, the agony.

You pressed the on button, the old TV flickering to life with a high-pitched whine. A news channel appeared after a few attempts, the colours slightly on the green side, a distant hum of static emitted from the tinny speaker behind the actual content.

“…fugitives, currently on the run. They are speculated to be residing somewhere in Sioux Falls, so the police force would like to warn all citizens to keep an eye out.”

A picture of you, Sam and Dean breaking into the morgue blew up on the screen. Even on the horribly blurry and grainy quality, you knew that you wouldn’t be able to escape recognition.

“Great,” Sam swore under his breath.

“Dammit,” Dean said loudly, standing up in agitation.

“…am I really that ugly?”

They both looked at you. 

“Wow, you can even see my zits…”

“You do know that we’re now hunted fugitives. Again,” Dean asked you pointedly.

“Again?” you looked up.

“Yeah, we’re, um, serial killers,” Sam chimed in, sounding ashamed. Your eyes widened slightly. The duo braced themselves for the sure hyperventilating or screaming to come, but… you only shrugged. 

“Oh. Cool.”

“Cool?” Dean raised his eyebrows.

“Yeah. Killers are hot,” you said, baring a wide grin. You slapped a hand to Dean’s thigh beside you.

Dean looked to Sam with worry. “I think it’s her period,” he mouthed.

Sam looked away and scratched his head before burying his face in his hands.


	8. Chapter 8

A week later, and nothing had changed.

You, Sam and Dean had been put under house arrest by Bobby, who looked equally as unhappy about it as the rest of the party. Bobby was out on a supply run, leaving the three of you alone.

Dean was supposed to be manning the laptop as you took notes from both. You say ‘supposed to’, since Dean was now snoring on your shoulder (or should you say entire right side of body), and was quite incapable of using Google.

“Does he usually snore this loud?” you whispered to Sam, rubbing your eye with the hand that was not taken. 

“Only when he sleeps sitting up.”

“I bet he sleeps sitting up often.”

“Like you would not believe.”

You cracked a grin, as did the taller brother. It didn’t last long — he quickly buried his face back in a leather book, flipping through the pages. You decided to ease him into conversation.

“Find anything?” you asked casually.

“Zip on cupids…” he mumbled, still reading a paragraph.

“Talk to, uh, Cas?”

“No. I’ve tried calling him…”

“What, like on an iAngel?”

You laughed at your joke, before realizing the room was silent. You quieted, and then Sam laughed.

“A little delayed, much?” you complained, still embarrassed. 

“Sorry, it’s just… You’ve been with us for about a week, and I don’t even know your last name.”

He sensed your hesitation and waved you off. “Don’t worry about it, though. I just think you and Dean should get closer.”

“Why, you think we should ‘fall in love’ and live a happily ever after?” you scoffed. “Not going to happen.”

“No, no, no, nothing like _that_ … I just think you should, well, not hate each other. Dean needs somebody behind his back,” Sam said hurriedly, syllables rushing out in case you’d interrupt him.

“Not hate each other,” you mused, looking down at the man now resting on your boobs. “I don’t know, Sam.”

“You two should talk. Like, really _talk_. Dean’s a hard guy to… understand, but he means well. Most of the time.”

You gave a scathing laugh, your face turning dark. “Sure, I’ll believe you. I just don’t think he’ll be able to get _me_.”

Sam’s face turned sympathetic. “I’m not asking you to spill your guts. I’m just asking you to… tell him your favourite colour.”

“I don’t even know how old he is,” you suddenly realized. “Oh my god, I could’ve been hooked to like, an eighty year old!”

Sam snorted, the image pretty funny in both minds. “His birthday was in January.”

“I missed it?” you actually were kind of disappointed. The fun you could’ve had with birthday punches. 

“Hey, you can get him a gift. Start the conversation up that way,” Sam offered.

“I don’t need help on how to socialize, Sammy.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Sammy?”

You groaned. “He’s rubbing off on me already!”

Sam smiled with a light chuckle, before standing up. “Well, I’m off to bed.”

“Oh, I should go too. I’m pretty tired…” as if on cue, you yawned. Sam smiled again, but it was way more devious than before. “What is it?”

“You’re not going anywhere. I know for a fact Dean won’t wake up unless he smells food.”

With a jolt of horror, your gaze crept back down to the man who had slid onto your lap, thoroughly pinning you to the couch. 

“Sam, help me!” you pleaded, but he was gone and guffawing down the hall. You looked down at Dean. “…I hate you.”

He grunted, rolling so that he curled up into your body and could fit his legs onto the couch. You sighed.

\---

When Dean woke up, he was on the floor. He sat up groggily, sun streaming in through dirty windows and making visible rays through the lines of dust. He saw a hand dangling and remembered — with a shudder. He looked up the couch and saw you sleeping face down, smirking, with something on your mind that he didn’t want to know about. He knew you pushed him off onto the floor, probably consciously.

“I hate you,” he told you crossly in a quiet tone. Your sleepy smile grew wider.


	9. Chapter 9

You yet again, found yourself on the couch of Bobby’s place. He was gone again, off to help a ‘friend’ as he said hurriedly while already out the door. Sam was gone to the world, his head underneath his pillow on the spare bed. It was just you and Dean.

“Hey,” you nudged him away from his reading, twiddling your thumbs.

“What?” he asked irritatedly, expecting an immediate answer. He looked up from the string bound book, his eyes groggy.

“Um… Sam… said I should talk to you,” you rushed. You flinched. _Nice work, on sounding like a goddamn nerd._ You cringed internally.

“You’re talking. _What_?”

You took a deep breath. “Tell me everything.”

He raised an eyebrow slowly. “About… what?”

“About you,” you said, leaning forwards so you were close to his face. “If we’re going to be cuffed ‘till we die, I at least want to know who it is I’m stuck with.” 

Dean looked away and laughed. “Well, I’d be up for that if you got me a nice present.” He turned back to the book. 

He jumped when you slammed something down on the table. It was a tall bottle of whiskey, one that you’d stashed under the couch for this very moment. You looked at him seriously. 

“You’re a really predictable, awful person. Now get drunk and tell me.”

Dean pursed his lips, and looked away from the amber elixir that you had laid out in front of him. You could see the little Angel and Devil on his shoulders, whispering into his ears.

“I’ll take it away if you don’t want it.”

He took it.

\---

So you learnt everything there was to know about Dean Winchester.

He wasn’t even five when he left Lawrence, Kansas. His mom just died burning to a crisp on the roof, his dad was devastated, and his brother was crying in his arms.

And then his dad died too, to the same thing that killed his mother. Dean called it the ‘yellow eyed demon’, with a dark look in his eyes that made you shift away from him. 

Sam was a Stanford law kid, and happy. Nice place, nice future, hot girlfriend… When Dean explained that he had dragged Sam back into the business, and that it was probably his fault Jess was dead, you had to touch his shoulder for him to continue. His voice cracked when he did. 

You, now thoroughly depressed by his boo-hoo story, coaxed some of the nicer things out of him. He played T-ball, he sucked at math, his ring was his mother’s wedding band, and his favourite food was this one burger from that one place that they only served at this one time. And pie. He flushed the toilets while Sam showered to piss him off, he accidentally kicked Santa in the nuts when he was 3, and so many more tales came tumbling out of his mouth that your eyes actually glazed over for some of them. 

The bottle only had a quarter left in it when you reached behind you to grab a slightly spotty shot glass on Bobby’s desk. You wiped it on your shirt, before holding it up to Dean.

“Happy late birthday,” you congratulated him, your eyes flicking from the bottle in his hands to the tiny clear glass in your fingers.

“Sam tell you that?” he asked after a moment of confusion. He poured you a shot, and you downed it in a single gulp. “Impressive,” he noted as you flinched.

“Not as impressive as your love for Sam,” you said, nearly coughing back up the burn. You swallowed it down, already feeling slightly fuzzy in your fingertips. 

“What?” Dean looked touchy, and you made a sound crossed between a laugh and a choke in response.

“You’d do anything for him,” you clarified after giving into a coughing fit, setting the shot glass down on the table as far away from you as possible, “…and you’ll probably die for him. Bobby, too. Now that I’d think about it, you’d do it for your dad too…”

“Yeah. Probably…? What’re you getting at?” 

“Would you do anything for me?”

Dean was quiet for a long few seconds. You watched him all the while, your eyes tracing the minute movements of his knee as it bounced anxiously. 

“I don’t know.”

“You’re not going to say ‘no’ to a chick you just met a week ago?”

“Let’s just… let’s just say you grew on me. Like a patch of mold.”

You ignored the jab but smiled, leaning back into the cracked arm of the beaten down sofa. 

“That’s a lot more than I’ve had in my entire life.”

You kicked your legs up over Dean’s lap. He flicked on the television, sank bank, and the two of you were silent and close in drunken peace.


	10. Chapter 10

You woke up late, somewhere around one o’clock PM, with Dean eating a plate of sketchy looking lumps, his cutlery clinking together quietly as the TV buzzed mutely. 

“Where’d you get that?” you asked in a hoarse zombie-voice, pointing lazily at the plate. Dean looked at you.

“Sam had to bring it to me because I couldn’t wake you up.”

“Oh. Sorry,” you apologized sheepishly, sitting up. You imagine him trying to leave, only to be drawn back like a dog tied to a pole as you slept away. You yawned. “I’ll make some actual food… but later. I gotta shower.”

The shower situation had gone somewhat smoothly — well, if you didn’t consider how negatively Dean felt about you taking ten minutes to shave each leg. Somebody brought the laptop in, and an oath of closed-eyes had been sworn. 

“Too bad, I called dibs.” Dean smiled at you with a full mouth, his face bulging.

“You can’t call dibs when somebody’s asleep! That’s just rude,” you protested, sitting up straighter. “I’m a girl. I should get to shower first.”

“I’m a dude. _I_ should shower.”

“No, I should. I have to shave. Do you _want_ to feel my prickly-ass legs?”

“You take like, an hour! You even sat down in the shower once!”

“I was tired from following you around all day!”

“Nose game.”

You had no time to touch your nose before Dean did, finally swallowing his mouthful. 

“That wasn’t fair.”

“Life isn’t fair, girl.”

You were about to yell at him again before —

“Why don’t you two just shower together?” Sam called in from the kitchen.

You looked at Dean in a sort of reluctant way. “Well — ”

“Don’t. Don’t. I’m showering first.”

“But — !”

“No.”

“Dean — !”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“I’ll have sex with you!”

“ _Definitely_ no.”

You scrolled through Tumblr with an angry expression, your right hand raised to the curtain as Dean sang horribly.

\---

“It’s been long enough for us to head back over to the town, right?” 

You toweled your hair off, looking at Sam, who was reading the news online. Your grey tank top was wet, leaving dark splotches along your shoulders. You hadn’t been able to find many clothes at the supermarket, so you were forced to borrow from Dean (the smallest in size of the trio of men), and slung a plaid button-up over your shoulders. 

“A week and a half?” Sam thought aloud doubtfully. “I don’t know…”

“We have to catch this cupid. We’re coming up with nothing here — the best we can do is find some other couple with the same dilemma,” you reasoned. When you got no response, you dropped the towel on your lap. “Look. That town has a lot of people that don’t care. As long as you don’t do anything stupid, you won’t get seen. We’re making no progress here, okay? So. At dawn... we ride.”

“We ride at dawn?” Dean repeated. “Did you just meme me?”

You beamed. “Me gusta.”

\---

You snatched a newspaper from a stand as you walked past, letting Dean and Sam lead you to wherever they wanted to go. 

“There’s been three other murders,” you noted, scanning the headlines. “Two girls and a guy. Killed by their, quoth the newspaper, ‘hysterical and delirious partners speaking of supernatural forces’.”

“Damn,” Dean scowled, glancing over at the bundle in your hands. “Not-Cupid moves fast. We still don’t know how long ‘till…” he made the cuckoo motion with his finger. 

“Yeah, thanks for reminding me,” you grumbled. You shoved the paper under your arm. 

“Reminders are not negative things,” a voice said into your ear from behind. You whipped around to check out who it was, and walked into a newspaper stand.

“Ow!” you yelped, rubbing your bruised ass. You looked up and saw Castiel standing over you, his face one of eternal confusion. “What the mother — !”

“Cas, what’re you doing here?” Dean interrupted. Sam stopped and ushered the group into a diner, giving apologetic stares to the strangers watching a girl hold their ass and wondering how the guy with the backwards tie just appeared. 

When you had been seated, you scowled at the angelic being. “You can give me warning before whispering into my ear like a creep,” you scolded him. He looked at you with a tilted head, as if still working out why you were upset.

“Moving on. Did you find something?” Dean was all business, folding his hands together on the table. 

“Yes. I have found a spell that will incinerate all cloaking spells surrounding the cupid, and allow me to find him.”

“That’s great!” you blurted out, finally feeling some hope. “What’s the spell?”

“Well, I don’t think you would appreciate it if I recited it right now.”

“Yeah. No, thanks Cas,” Sam rushed hastily, fearing that the angel would do just that. “We’ll head to an abandoned lot later.”

“The spell… requires the bone of a wicked. The magic binds the tormented to our bidding, and the only way for us to find the cupid is for a spirit to.”

“So we have to find a graveyard?” you asked, wincing. 

“Yes, that would be correct.”

“Then we’ll have to go when it’s dark. Don’t want people to see us digging up some murderer’s grave,” Dean finished, slumping back into the diner’s chair. 

“I will meet you there to provide you with the spell at precisely one fourty four ante meridiem.”

He blinked out of existence with a ruffle. You huffed, your question not even out of your mouth. 

“Such a stuck up prick, he can’t even say 1:45,” you muttered spitefully. “Who does that?”


	11. Chapter 11

You requested that, since Castiel’s meeting time was hours away, you go shopping. It was a quick trip — you picked up some actual _nice_ clothing, but found yourself so attached to Dean’s baggy button-ups that you couldn’t wear them. You also bought something up that Dean complained about the whole car ride back…

Healthy food.

“Organic cilantro? _Really_?”

“Yes! I’m surprised you haven’t died of diabetes, or become even _more_ obese yet.”

Dean turned into another lane before looking at you several times. “I’m not fat.”

You held up the sleeves of his red plaid shirt, which fell over your hands, nodding a few times with a knowing smile. “Yeah?”

“Hey, that’s just because I’m tall!”

“Yeah?”

“I’m not fat! I should say _you_ are, since you never exercise.”

“Yeah?”

“And I know you’re gonna say, ‘Oh, Sam’s taller than you!’, but guess what? I’m taller than you, shortass!”

“Yeah?”

He looked at you again, his eyes narrowed. “Are you just pissing me off for fun?”

“Yeah.”

\---

Dean drank his beer sullenly, leaning against the counter as you stirred the linguine gently. You turned your attention to the marinara, taking a spoon to taste it.

“Hey, I’ve been thinking. I’ve spilled my guts to you about my family legend, but what about you? All I know is that you’re Canadian.”

“I only live in Canada,” you corrected, adding a sprinkle of garlic salt, “and, you haven’t given me the right gift yet.”

“Gift?”

“Remember that whiskey? Yeah. I’m a bit harder to impress, since I’m not just a booze nut.” You grinned at him, walking him to the other side of the kitchen where the bamboo cutting board with minced garlic was prepared. 

“You going to tell me about your dad?”

You froze. Your rolled your shoulders free of the sudden stiffness, your laugh reduced to a small smile. “Was it that obvious?”

Dean let out a hollow chuckle. “Trust me, I know daddy issues better than anyone.”

You nodded slowly. “If you can impress me, I’ll tell you everything.”

“I’ll let you shower first every morning,” he offered. You turned to look at him slowly.

“You’re really that desperate?” you asked, almost unbelieving that he would do something that drastic for a shitty sob story.

He took a swig. “If it’ll give me leverage against you, I’ll do anything.”

“Anything.”

“Well, just the shower. And only for a week.”

You laughed, dumping the garlic into the hot olive oil on the skillet. “Fine. I’ll tell you.”

So you did. 

You told him about your dad, who raised you as a single parent because your mom had decided she was better off without you. He was pretty decent, a low job that he worked day and night to support you. You loved him a lot — well, until he went crazy and tried to kill you.

“Wait, what?” Dean’s eyes were wide when you dropped that casually, sautéing the garlic with tomato sauce and white wine. 

“He had me at gunpoint and told me to die.”

“And you were _ten_?”

“Yeah.”

Dean gave you a look that crossed from fear to concern to pity, before he nodded. “What happened next?”

You told him how you made a break for the door, only to have him shoot you in the leg. Dean inhaled sharply at that, his eyes flicking down to your knees. You shrugged. 

“I saw the poker in the fire. It was still hot, because we were too lazy to take it out. I grabbed it, and stabbed him in the stomach.

Turns out he was possessed by a spirit. I saw it float out of his body and burn to flakes, screaming the whole damn time… my dad, he just fell to the ground, and died.”

“He just died.”

“Just like that.”

“So, if your dad wasn’t a hunter, how’d you get into this?” he asked after a long silence of watching your movements. You wouldn’t say you were fine. You were shivering ever so slightly and just holding back the waver in your voice, but you wouldn’t dare to show Dean you were weak. You inhaled deeply to calm yourself. 

“He was. He just… never told me.”

“How’d you find out he was, then?”

“Well, I kind of… searched his body when he died. I don’t know why, maybe I just wanted to see some sort of memento he might’ve left behind… I found a key. There’s this room in his study, that’s always locked… I opened it, and I just… I saw it all.

Shelves and shelves of books of lore. All the crazy, all the satanic thoughts went through me, but I knew his writing. He had pictures, he had notes, but most of all, there was this one notebook with my name on it.”

“What was it?”

“Like some sort of monster preparedness kit. It explained everything to me — how to kill everything he knew, how to recognize them, which weapons I needed… and lastly, an apology.”

“An apology… for bringing you into it?”

“He never brought me into it!” You slammed the shaker down on the table and turned to look at Dean, fury burning in your chest. “He tried his hardest not to, okay? He was a great person, a good man with a good fuckin’ heart… but then he died. And I began to deal weapons.” You turned away from him, back to the stove. “Some other hunters took me in. I left them when I was old enough… and now, I’m here.”

Dean didn’t apologize. In fact, he didn’t say anything. You looked behind you and saw him just staring at you, his green eyes flowing with… pity. 

“I don’t want your fucking sorrow on my back,” you spat at him, turning back to the pan. Your eyes welled with heat now. You’d _wanted_ some reassurance, a little pat on the back or an ‘it’ll be okay’. You were weak. 

_You’ve always been pathetic_ , you thought to yourself, despair and terror building up inside of you. 

_And now you’re going to cry. Bitch._

“You sound like Bobby.”

His voice made you jump, nearly splattering yourself in the face with pasta sauce. You sniffled, wiping the large teardrops out of your eyes before turning back to face him.

“How?”

“Like an old, crotchety booze nut with the same damn story.” 

“Are you criticizing me?” you asked, outraged. Your jaw almost dropped. Here, you’d just told him something you wouldn’t even tell God at the gates, and he was ridiculing you. 

“No.”

“It sounds a hell of a lot like it!” You turned away from him, disgusted to be in his presence. You’d listened to him, you’d felt for him, and now… no. You hated yourself, and you hated him a lot more. 

“I’m not criticizing you,” Dean said in a reasoning voice, but you refused to look at him. 

“Then _what_?” you hissed under your breath.

“I’m telling you that you don’t deserve it.”

You took a deep breath. What an _idiot_. “Of course I don’t deserve it. Nobody does. But it happened, so I have to fucking deal with it.” You finally turned to look at him, your eyes blazing with anger. “Just like I have to deal with an insecure, freakish… freakish _monster_ like you.”

Dean finally winced, and when his eyes opened again they flooded with an emotion — hurt. You were ready to tell him every mean thing you could, but then… you deflated. He reminded you of _you_ when you were ten, tears a long ways away with all the weight crushing down on one point at one time. Your guilt outweighed your stubbornness, so you opened your mouth for a hasty apology, and instead he kissed you.


	12. Chapter 12

His lips were heavily chapped, the rough peeling skin scratching at your lips much like sandpaper would. But, you were probably insane, because you just dropped everything and let him. 

There was comfort in his slow but deliberate gestures, a hand rested against your jawbone the other on the nape of your neck. His fingers caught in your unbrushed hair, and you felt him rubbing at the soft down-like strands. You felt your hand drift upwards — the reason being by either the magic spell or unconscious need. You placed both hands on his cheekbones, running your thumbs down the neat stubble and finding scars along the way. You didn’t even notice the stiffening of his built frame when you found a particularly coarse one, caressing it gently as if it was yet another kiss to his body. 

You found yourself ceasing movement, your lower lip caught between his and your teeth never clicking against his. Your eyes had closed, and when they fluttered back open you saw his freckles in plenty, his eyelids shut tight and his forehead resting against yours. 

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, pulling back only just so that your lips grazed against his when you spoke. “I didn’t… I didn’t mean…”

“Yeah.” His tone was brief but held everything you needed to know, so you were about to lean forwards again when

“Hey, guys, did you see — ?”

You jumped back from the embrace, spinning on your heel so that you grabbed the handle of the wooden spoon still propped on the stove. You felt Dean shuffle backwards, awkward tension springing up like a geyser in an instant. 

Sam stormed into the kitchen with an empty duffel and random shirt in his hand, arriving just in time to see you sticking the spoon into Dean’s mouth before he could say anything.

“How’s it taste?” you blurted out frantically, grinning at Sam. 

“Eughin.” Dean pulled the spoon out of his mouth rubbing his jaw in pain. “Fine, why?” He then noticed his brother standing in the doorway before bringing up the enthusiasm, nodding largely. “Yeah, it’s great!”

“Yeah, um, it’s done. What were you looking for, Sam?” you took the spoon and threw it in the sink so that it clattered loudly. You smiled at Sam widely.

“Uh… nevermind. You two... do whatever you were doing…” and he left. You breathed a sigh of relief.

When he was sure Sam had gone out of earshot, Dean looked at you with a sort of strangled expression. “Can we just say heat of the moment?” he asked in a desperate tone.

“Yeah,” you agreed breathlessly, leaning on the counter as your heart still tried to eject itself out of your body.

\---

A tasty yet horrifically awkward meal later, you were strolling casually in town at 1:00 AM.

You shivered. It was another cold night/early morning, and all activity was gone save for the 24/7 McDonalds you had just passed. Streetlights above shielded you from the dark, but snow had just begun to fall again, leaving flurries in your vision. There was an attempt to just drive there, but the Impala had engine troubles that seemed a little too convenient. So you lugged the shovel and Dean had the duffel, and you trudged along.

Your teeth chattered together, but you didn’t dare complain. Or even talk. That kiss had left you totally numb and you were still trying to analyze every moment of it. Your conclusion?

You’re a dumbfuck that got attached to somebody who would probably die like everybody else did. 

Unfortunately, because of your restless mental criticism, you didn’t notice somebody coming up behind you until they shoved you into a road.

Dazed with the impact of your forehead slamming the rough asphalt (again), you hardly acknowledged the screeching of tires until blinding headlights came down like radiant sunlight.


	13. Chapter 13

_This is how I’m going to die?_

You somehow had enough time for that thought before you closed your eyes again, bracing for impact and 

“You _idiot_! What the fuck?!”

Ah. Unless angel’s harps sounded like an angry and half-drunk Winchester, you were unfortunately, still on Earth.

You spat the taste of dirt out of your mouth, raising a hand to touch your stinging wound. The blood was hot against your numb skin. You had to blink a couple of times to focus your sight.

“Dean?” you asked, your voice raspy. You reached out for him, and found his arm. 

“You’re lucky you had the magic bond thing to me,” he scowled, snapping his fingers in front of your face. You squinted, focusing on one of his eyes. “I pulled you back in time.”

“Oh… thanks.” It was all you could manage before you felt something rough scrape against the gash across your hairline, and you yelped aloud with pain, jerking back. “What the hell?!”

“Sit still, I’m trying to bandage it.” You realized he was holding a stringy section of cloth, and your eyes bulged.

“What, you just ripped that off your sweaty and smelly shirt? That only happens in TV — ow!” he ignored you and pressed the rough cotton against the whining cut again, tying it crudely behind your head. 

“Shh. The driver can’t see us.” His voice was hushed now, and he pressed against you so that you were flat against the wall.

Your breathing was still heavy with adrenaline, but you held it, eyes darting around. Of course he would drag you from sight. What would it look like to some shitty driver to just see a girl get yanked out of existence?

It looked like Dean had pulled you through the alley. The dim lighting that came from the street was it, and the only thing you were totally sure of was Dean’s arm wrapped tightly around you. 

You could faintly make out the outline of a shadow on the street, the abandoned duffel and shovel still lying in plain sight. You cursed. There were some pretty incriminating and illegal things in the duffel, and if the driver happened to open it up…

You gasped gently when a monstrous figure slunk up to the items, their shadow only elongated by the placement of the orange streetlamp. You felt Dean cover your mouth, and couldn’t help but roll your eyes. You weren’t an idiot. You weren’t going to go, ‘yoo hoo mister, we’re right over —’

The figure turned and began storming up to you, making you tense into Dean’s embrace. Fuck. You didn’t have a weapon. Maybe if you — 

“Guys? What the hell!”

“Sammy?”

Dean released you, and you squinted up at the behemoth. Sure enough, it was Sam. He had a look of relief on his face and pushed his long hair back with a hand, the other on his hip.

“Goddammit. I thought I’d actually ran you over.”

“Wait, that was you?! Then, who pushed me?!” You scrambled to your feet, but regretted it, your head pulsing with the rush of blood. You pressed your fist against your wound but glared up at the younger brother. “I almost died!”

“Somebody pushed you? I thought you just fell.” Dean was beside you now, his voice low but urgent. 

“I’m not a clumsy, stupid idiot,” you hissed, taking the statement with offense. “Somebody pushed me. I felt it.”

“I didn’t see anybody.”

“What?”

“There was nobody there.”

You looked at Sam with disbelief, waiting for him to break the practical joke. But he was dead serious, his lips pressed to a thin line as he averted his gaze from you. 

You broke the silence.

“Well then, lads!” you said, clapping your numb hands together, “somebody’s trying to kill me.”

**Author's Note:**

> Elsewhere: http://deltachye.tumblr.com/post/145785059871/cuffed-m-reader-x-dean-winchester-how-to-get  
> THIS IS CANCELLED. I will NOT be writing for it anymore. I killed it in 2013. Please respect that. I'm sorry for not giving a proper conclusion, but understand.


End file.
